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COPYRIGHT DEPOSfT 



THE SHIP 
OF SILENCE 




OTHER POEMS 



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J,3t ,^J>)3 J. J 



By EDWARD UFFINGTON VALENTINE 
THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY. Indianapolis 



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T5 3^4^ 



fwE LliRARY Ol- 
0ONGRESS, 

Two Oor^iES Received 

DEC, 16 1901 

COP^RtQHT ENTRY 

CLASS ^XXo. HO 
COPir B. 



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£^r 



CoPrBioHT 1901 
Thb Bowen-Mbrrill Company 



PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 

BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN, N. Y. 



TO 
JAMES LANE ALLEN 



THANKS ARE DUE TO THE ATLANTIC 
MONTHLY, SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, HAR- 
PER'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE, THE 
CRITIC, THE OUTLOOK, THE NEW YORK 
INDEPENDENT, THE CHURCHMAN, THE 
YOUTH'S COMPANION, AND THE NEW 
YORK SUN FOR PERMISSION TO REPUB- 
LISH CERTAIN POEMS IN THIS VOLUME 



CONTENTS 

THE SHIP OP SILENCE 1 

SILENUS 7 

HELEN 13 

THE HAMADRYAD 16 

HELIOS 22 

TO CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 24 

KEATS AND CHATTERTON 29 

THE LOVER'S ELEGY 30 

TO A DAFFODIL MAID 35 

LEAF AND LOVE 37 

A MADRIGAL 39 

A TRYST 41 

A DOOMSDAY KISS 43 

A PARTING 46 

THE ROSE OF LOVE 48 

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 50 

LOVE'S ADVENT 52 

SOUVENIR DE DANSEUSE 54 

LOVE'S MEETING 58 

MARY MAGDALENE 60 



I 



CONTENTS 

KING HEROD'S SON 66 

THE CRYPTS OP THE HEART 76 

THE LAST SHOT 79 

THE MIDSUMMER MOON 80 

INDIAN SUMMER 82 

AN AUTUMN SONG 87 

AN OCTOBER DAY 89 

AN OCTOBER NIGHT 91 

AN AUTUMN DAY 93 

THE LAST OF MAY 96 

THE MESSAGE OF MARCH 97 

A RIME OF RAIN 100 

THE MOUNTAIN 102 

AN AUTUMN VIEW 105 

A FAREWELL TO THE UPLANDS 108 

THE MOUNTAIN PEAK 110 

THE PINE TREE 111 

THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 113 

THE SPIRIT OF THE WHEAT 121 

IF LIKE A ROSE 124 

THE FAIRIES' SCISSORS-GRINDER 126 

THE HORNET'S NEST 128 

THE CRICKET 130 

THE FAIRIES' NURSE 132 

TO DON DRAGONFLY 134 



CONTENTS 

FIREFLIES 136 

LADY-SLIPPERS 138 

THE ROBIN'S CREED 140 

A SONG OP SPAIN 142 

THE ITALIAN TONGUE 144 

LOVE'S QUIETUDE 146 

THE MUSIC OF THE SOUL 147 

THE CHURCH ORGANIST 148 

INSOMNIA 149 

THE MAELSTROM 150 

THE FOUNTAIN 151 

THE OPEN DOOR 154 

SPARROWS 156 

STRAYERS FROM ARCADIA 159 



THE SHIP OF SILENCE 

And though I knew, I shall not know again ; 
And thougli I weary, I must ever wait ; 
And though I pray, yet will it not avail ! 
Peace — peace beyond comparing — heavenly peace 
Dwells like a dove upon thy solemn spars, 
And sheds a blessing on the silent crew 
But here, among the noisy tongues of men. 
The end is turmoil, tears and burthens ever. 
And ceaseless fret — the Marah of the World ! 

My eyes are ever fixed on seaward lines ; 
And haunting visions have their mock of me ; 
As here I sit through all the burning day. 
Friendless, and stony as these whitened cliffs. 
Sails rising' from the verge shall melt again, 



THE SHIP OF SILENCE 

And many vessels bring their merchant freight - 
Unto the harbor and the homes of men — 
But, Ship of Silence, thou wilt never come ! 
Only in dreams my misty eyes behold, 
How far from even.' port thy blessed prow 
Steers onward homeless through the untraversed 

deep, 
The hooded helmsman, pale with saintly fast, 
Holding the helm with steadfast hand of faith. 
His withered lips sealed by an awful vow : 
And over all the brooding eyes of Christ, 
And over all the constant wings of Peace ! 

Youth's fevered fancies preyed upon my blood. 
And fought within my heart against the \^ow ! 
I only of them all had manhood's heat, 
I, only, had my yearning youthless youth — 



THE SHIP OF SILENCE 

While ghostly age was on their ragged beards, 
And gray with age their girded gabardines, 
And hoar the deck their noiseless sandals trod. 
The waters, circling with unbroken rim 
The patient pathways of the winged barque 
Were not more waste than seemed my waste of 

youth ! 
Oft in the midnight watches at the helm, 
When all the Brethren in their lamp-lit cells 
With knitted palms were bent upon their beads. 
Sorely my heart was tempted to the sin. 
The white stars brightening on the ocean's brink 
Called to my spirit, as they slowly sank 
To where lay half-way down the curving world 
The bournes and regions of my hungry dreams. 
The noise of marts, and song and strife of men ; 

But awe as oft overcame me, and my hand 

3 



THE SHIP OF SILENCE 

Let fall the yellowed chart that fed my 

thoughts, — 
Awe of the Silence and the Silent Crew. 
But most of all, beyond all other fears, 
Awe of the figure of the dying Christ 
That hung, colossal, on the mighty mast. 
With arms outstretched against the blackened 

spars : 
So through the lonely vigils of the night, 
The Vow constrained me, and the face of Christ. 
But healed not, nay, or held me at the last, 
For all my fasting and the bloody scourge. 
And I grew blind unto the whitening dawn. 
And found no calm within the quiet noon, 
In sunset waters and the lulling foam. 

And so, at last, the moment when I fell. 
Casting the rope upon the guilty gloom ! 

4 



THE SHIP OF SILENCE 

And after many days upon the spar, 
With famine clutching at the final crumb, 
And anguished thirst, deliverance from the 
deep. 

Now doth my eld bear witness to the cup 
Wherein my wanton youth dissolved its pearl. 
I have beheld the fruitless end of lust 
And how the World is but a mocking thing. 
My whole heart sickens, and my chill bones ache 
For to be gathered from this Vale of Tears, 
Yea, ache with utter longing for the end. 
For peradventure. Help behind the grave 
Will grant that Peace I shall not know again 
While in these rusting fetters of the flesh : 
Nay, though my prayers and daily penance plead 
And severance of this rebel tongue I plucked. 
Repentant, from its roots, full long agone, 

5 



THE SHIP OF SILENCE 

And these dead ears I pierced. My glazing eyes, 
Dim with untimely rheum of constant tears, 
Watch on in vain upon these whitened cliffs. 
No gale wafts near the sail for which I long. 
Only in dreams I see the blessed barque 
And in the starry light the face of Christ, 
His outstretched arms that cling upon the spars, 
Shedding a balm among the hooded crew. 



SILENUS 
"Ho, Silenus!" 
The dryads are calling, 
The satyrs are bawling, 
While red leaves are falling. 
*'Ho, Silenus! 

Holloa, ho— o r 

Like glowing lava-streams the sumac crawls 
Upon the mountain's granite walls ; 
And starting through the shade 
The maples raid 
The pine-trees' gloomy porches 
With countless flaring torches. 
Till through the air, like cinders flying, 
The leaves drop dying ; 
7 



SILENUS 

The purple asters glow like gems 

On woodland hems ; 
Half-shut in folds of tawny grass 
The blue pool pictures in its glass 
The swallows sweeping through the clouds 
In twittering crowds ; 
The red fox strains his supple shoulders 
To scale the bowlders 
And taste the wild grapes' dangling crop ; 
The light-foot squirrels hop 
Through rustling sedges 
And bear the smooth white nuts to rocky ledges. 
"Ho, Silenus! 

Holloa, ho— ol" 

Thus down the slope the chorus flings its voice, 

And waits, impatient to rejoice 

In all the Autumn's harvest pleasures, 

8 



SILENUS 

And foot the measures 
Timed to the tap of the nut on the ground — 
Their chief not found. 
"Ho, Silenus! 

Holloa, ho— o!" 

Down in the village by the cider-press, 
The whole day long in idleness, 
The orchard pillagers, 
The sun-brown villagers. 
Make merry 'round their final barrel 
Of ruddy juice with dance and carol. 
Silenus, thither strayed with wits half addled, 
The cask has straddled. 
And leads the music's jocund din 

With foolish nodding chin 
Till o'er his flamy nose falls down 
His leafy crown. 
9 



SILENUS 

He leers with lips smeared round with lees 
At every buxom maid he sees, 
And waves the arm that would be placed 
Around her panting waist. 
"Ho, Silenus! 

Holloa, ho— o!'' 

From woody hills against the sunset red 

The sounds across the corn fields spread, 
And lightly touch his ears. 
Straightway he hears 
The summons from the voicing zephyrs, 
Two writhed horns like any heifer's 
'Gin sprout from out his brow, his ears to peak - 
And ere the folk draw breath to speak. 

Or start aloof 
At sight of shag and goatish hoof. 
Away the barrel on a hasty trot 

10 



SILENUS 

Has borne the sot, 
While all the honest people swear 
It turned a bear ! 

And idly there the revellers stand, 

Shading their eyes with arching hand. 

While through the stooks, now lost from view, 

Now glimpsed anew. 

He jolts along, the jolly knave, 

Shouting a stave, 

And o'er his steed his fingers snapping. 

And crook'd thighs to its plump sides clapping, 

Till in the dusk they disappear. 

The while the harvest-moon's red bloated sphere. 

Like a great wine-skin, up the misty air 

Gropes slowly from the east. And they declare 

That 'gainst the forest's mystic portals 

' Sylvan Immortals 
II 



SILENUS 

The truant wait, a half-nude band, 
With wreathed staffs in hand, 
And loose fawn hides and leafy dress — 

Or so they guess — 
While evening winds toward them blow 
The echo low : 
"Ho, Silenus ! 

Holloa, ho— o!" 



12 



HELEN 

She sits within the wide oak hall, 
Hung with the trophies of the chase, — 
Helen, a stately maid and tall, 
Dark-haired and pale of face ; 
With drooping lids and eyes that brood. 
Sunk in the depths of some strange mood. 
She gazes in the fireplace, where 
The oozing pine logs snap and flare. 
Wafting the perfume of their native wood. 

The wind is whining in the garth. 
The leaves are at their dervish rounds, 
The flexile flames upon the hearth 
Hang out their tongues like panting hounds. 
13 



HELEN 

The fire, I deem, she holds in thrall ; 
Its red light fawns as she lets fall 
Escalloped pine cones, dried and brown, 
From loose, white hands, till up and down 
The colored shadows dye the dusky wall. 

The tawny lamp-flame tugs its wick ; 
Upon the landing of the stair 
The ancient clock is heard to tick 
In shadows dark as Helen's hair ; 
And by a gentle accolade 
A squire to languid silence made, 
I lean upon my palms, with eyes 
O'er which a rack of fancy flies, 
While dreams like gorgeous sunsets flame 
and fade. 

And as I muse on Helen's face, 

Within the firelight's ruddy shine, 
14 



HELEN 

Its beauty takes an olden grace 
Like hers whose fairness was divine ; 
The dying embers leap, and lo ! 
Troy wavers vaguely all aglow, 
And in the north wind leashed without, 
I hear the conquering Argives' shout ; 
And Helen feeds the flames as long ago ! 



15 



THE HAMADRYAD 

The large moon smoulders on the misty hills ; 

A chill wind gathers through the desolate vale ; 

And, driven in moody spasms, the wet leaves 

wheel. 

Or, batlike, cling against the casement pane. 

Upon the hearth the pine log^s dying fire 

Leaps up anon in eager flash of flames, 

Stirred by the passing of the night's wild sounds, 

While from the ashes comes a burring note. 

Continuous ; an azure coil of smoke 

Lies charmed in sleep, dispelling from its dreams 

Warm memories of the balsam-breathing woods ; 

Athwart the walls the shadows, hand in hand, 

Swirl in the measure of a mystic dance, — 

i6 



THE HAMADRYAD 

I gazing in the fire ; when through the flames 
A gradual vision shows. 

Upon one knee 
She crouches 'mid the ashes, a young hand 
Upraised against her ear which strains to catch 
The sounds that shrill without, the other held 
Unto the heaving beauty of her breast ; 
Along her shoulder falls her hair, cone-crowned, 
In color flamelike ; deep as dusky glens 
Her lifted eyes, and full of mortal pain. 
She, kneeling, listens ; then her languid lips 
Sigh forth the music of entreating words : 

*Is it thy voice, O North Wind, that I hear ? 

My spirit from some darkened swoon awakes 

At thy bleak calling, O my love of old ! 

Is 't I whom, through the hollow-stretching 

night, 

17 



THE HAMADRYAD 

Thou seekest, wanderer, with impatient arms, 
With voicings of despair on finding not ? 
O North Wind, is it I, thy love of old ? 
Too long, too long, perchance, hath fateful night 
Enthralled my sense, since that dread hour I felt 
The mortal anguish of successive blow 
Cleave through my bark, until with utter pain 
My being failed me ! Lo, from sleep I wake, 

Wind Love, yearning for thy clasping arms. 

*My soul is full of visions ! All the past 
Presses its joys against my falling lids : 

1 see again the gloomed and dreary wood ; 
The stars that watched our covert of content, 
Where waited I thy passage and return, 
Where mourned thee 'mid the verdant break of 

spring. 

Oh, sore to me the blush of budding leaves, — 

i8 



THE HAMADRYAD 

The world's awakening tore thee from my arms ; 
Sombre with weeds of my worn widowhood, 
My sighings hushed the robin's thrill of joy. 
Haunted was I "by soul of alien seas, 
Of roaring forelands and wave-whitened 

strands, 
Where thou didst wander; with my boughs I 

breathed 
Deceits of ocean sound to lure the gull 
And straying sea-fowl, and from them I gleaned 
Hope's tiding-word. 

"Thus dreamful of frore days, 

I thrilled and waited through the summer suns. 

Cheered by the gradual signs of thy approach. 

Reared high upon the mountain's cragged steep, 

I leaned, and heard the awful prophecies 

19 



THE HAMADRYAD 

Of gathering storms search through the wasting 

vales, 
Where fell the leaves aflame with phantom fears 
Of winter's coming dearth; while lightnings 

reeled 
And vanished into far, abysmal darks. 
Faint grew my soul with love's foreshadowing 

bliss ! 
The wonder-spirit of thy blest return 
Flitted with feet snow-shod along the air, 
And thou wert come! With spoil of boreal 

realm 
(The jagged brilliants of the pendent ice, 
Wrought of sea-spells and frost's hoar wiz- 
ardry) 
Decking my gloomed branches like a bride ! 

O Wind ! hast thou forgot thy love of old ? 

20 



THE HAMADRYAD 

*Lo, now my being from these gyves of flame 
Is loosening ! And to thee and thy dear arms 
My shade prepares to mount. Oh, flee not, 

Love r 

• ••••••« 

Upon her pleading eyes the wan lids droop, 
And through her lips escapes a lingering sigh ; 
From flushing hues to gradual change of death, 
The vision fades and slowly melts away : 
A wreath of smoke drifts upward from the 

hearth ; 
The flaking ashes lie, gray, desolate — 
One last spark breaks, burns redly, and is gone. 



21 



HELIOS 

What riots hath the golden god 

Who triumphs o'er the drowsy dale. 

Whose foot upon the vernal sod 
Doth potently prevail ! 

His smile is friend to flowers' faces ; 

His naked body deftly dips 
In winged quest of quiet places, 

To steal their sweetened lips. 

His beauty is a happy boon 

For fancy's golden threads and themes ; 
To heavy-lidded nooks of noon 

A constant cause of dreams. 

22 



HELIOS 

Love is his purpose and his song, 

And ecstasy, his eager art ; 
His glory and his hope are strong, 

And mirth doth make his heart. 

No thoughts but gladness fill his veins ; 

His moods are multitudes of joy; 
No dues but singing have his fanes ; 

His moments, no annoy. 

The heart, his arrows sting to bliss ; 

His cup is pledged to life, not death ; 
A magic mingles with his kiss, 

To stay the fleeting breath. 

All birds catch echo from his rites, 

From nesting at his temples' eaves ; 
He sends them forth against despites — 

To every wight that grieves ! 

23 



TO CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 

Sponsor of those whose choral voices sung 
To teach our English lips their nobler ways ; 
Who o'er the loom of speech their spirits flung 
And wrought designs of beauty and high praise ; 
Who, passionate of the past, from ravished urns 
Revived the golden dust of precious dreams, 
That smite our empty days with quickening beams 
And melt the heart with flow of tragic tears : — 
On the enduring heights thy memory burns. 

Above contentious claim ; 
One whom the muse of old Olympian flame 
Hath clasped secure against the inconstant years ! 

Outrageous death did hush too soon that song 
Which vied with Avon's eagle on the skies, 

24 



TO CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 

Whose circling pinions o'er the lesser throng, 
Widened beyond the scope of wondering eyes ! 
But tho' oblivion, at life's fallen sun 
Upon the minds of men doth fix her hold, 
And from thy brow would clutch the circlet gold 
Thou wearest with such stateliness of mien, 
Thy soaring spirit hath too fairly won 

From the high gods the gift 
Of grace and signal favors — that uplift 
Its fire above the feuds of envious spleen ! 

The deathless dreams of Greece thy fancy robbed 
Till marble shapes forswore their pale repose ; 
Upon their lips a sweeter pathos sobbed, 
And their chill cheek with vital color glows ; 
While at thy master will, the antique torch 
That Hero's white hand held, with frantic flame 
Reveals the secret of her virgin shame 

25 



TO CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 



And gives Leander's love a kindlier heat ; 
And Dido leans across her palace porch 



With angfuished face that see 



*t> 



a 



Aeneas' sail let loose against the breeze, 
Bearing away the freight of joy's defeat ! 

Thy soul, the muse's moon, was sphered to sway 

The larger tides and passions of the heart ; 

The clash and clamor of thy pictured fray 

Stir in our spirit with an epic art 

The answering memories of an outworn mood ; 

While on fast feet of thy wild words we take 

Some citadel of godlike thought and slake 

With thee a violent thirst of lordly joy ; 

Or sense of beauty breaks upon the blood 

Before thy melting grace, 

Which snatched the wonder of that Argive face 

From the red ruins of tumultuous Troy ! 

26 



TO CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 

Leander-like, across the straits of life, 
Thy naked body dared the encircling dark, 
The waves' bold buffets and the tempest strife — 
Thy vision ever fixed on beauty^s spark ! 
The mermaids wildly singing thro' the gloom, 
Lured thy pale limbs to passion-pool and gurge. 
Till night, consenting with the traitor surge, 
Overwhelmed the panting fervor of thy breath 
And wrought the midway-waters for a tomb. 

But when upon the shore 
Fate viewed thy face, thy foe he was no more, 
Kissing from off thy lips the stain of death ! 

Even as a wizard spell hath wit to turn 

Chill vistas and November's leafless close 

To bloomed boughs, when waning seasons spurn 

The burgeoned glamour of the summer rose, — 

Thou bringest to us thy fearless faith of joy, 

27 



TO CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 

Lost to these latter days when men but dare 
To walk the mazes of a mean despair, 
Seeing how life doth raise unlovely hands 
Against their dream to deaden and destroy. 

Lo, thy perpetual page 
Calls back the gladness of the golden age 
And all bright shapes of old Arcadian lands ! 



28 



KEATS AND CHATTERTON 

" Fratres Helenae, lucida sidera." 

Twin souls ! Immortal brethren to the claim 
Of Helen's beauty and her bright embrace ! 
Blessed with ambrosial favors and the face 
Of Jove and all of clear Olympian flame ! 
Now set within the zodiac of fame, 
Ye shine supreme in sempiternal grace, 
Pouring the influence of your heavenly place 
Upon the world's old bitterness and blame. 

Your voices weave into the ethereal round 

And wide harmonious mazes of the spheres. 

Whose music shadows on our inner ears 

And fills the heart with faint prophetic sound ; 

Such lyric notes ye make, as born of death, 

Resume the strain life shattered in mid-breath ! 

29 



THE LOVER'S ELEGY 

I 
Alas, that faith in search of fitting song 

Should find but feeble words wherewith to knell 
The death of one whose going did such wrong 

Unto the world ! For like a season's blight 
That makes the red rose wither at the well, 

Thy end put all the summer's sweets to 
flight. 
Ah, Love, beyond the utmost of mine art 
Thy worth doth beckon praises from my heart ! 

II 

I would not have harsh music hurt thy dreams 
Or let the fashions of wild grief oppress 

30 



THE LOVER S ELEGY 

Thy quiet's ear. As love the thought esteems 

(What the sore wastes of time can never 
fade!)— 
How once thy beauty's sun did fondly bless 
The daytimes of my being without shade : 
So should my words fall softly like the dew 
Or as these scattered honorings of rue. 

Ill 

Thy golden name, that was as aureole 

For thy pure brow, the wintry-bearded earth 

Did weep to see recorded on death's roll. 

But now against such mind of sorrowing 

The new year quickens with the sunbeam's birth 

And the mild savors of the budding spring, 

Whilst the false robin careless of thy fame 

Doth torch the season with his feather's flame. 

31 



THE LOVER S ELEGY 
IV 

Yet, though the times forget thee, do I keep 

Faith with the past — still constant as of old — 
Pressing my lips where thou art laid asleep 
Behind death's door fast-shut beyond 
recall, 
Within thy delved chamber dark and cold — 
Where thou hast locked with thee my life, 
my all, 
Clasping unto thy breast the unkind key, 
And though I knock canst answer not to me ! 

V 

Death, the grim gaoler, led thee looking back 

Down that rude stair that goeth underground, 

Albeit knowing all the world would lack 

In loss of thee ! — ^Yet might not he relent 
32 



THE LOVERS ELEGY 

If thou about his neck thy fair arms wound, 
And yield thee as the May, long season- 
pent, 
Returns to heal the wounds of winter's bane — 
That thou mightst solace this my spirit's pain ? 

VI 

Thy favored daisies, which like handmaids kept 

Watch o'er thy dreams and on the beaded drip 
The ruthful darkness of thy tomb hath wept 

Made prayers of peace, behold how to the 
light 
They tiptoe upward and with rose-rimmed lip, 
That speaks a knowledge of thy beauty 
white, 
Look round, their eyelids wiped of olden dews— 
As though thy heralds with some happier news ! 

33 



THE LOVER S ELEGY 
VII 

Is it they say, death is not all unkind 

And thou art risen with the breaking spring ? 
Bidding me find in it with eyes less blind 

How thou dost make its sweetness and its 
grace, 
Engaged in bright, ethereal pleasuring, 

And though thy spirit veils from me its 
face 
It dwelleth where ecstatic faith may climb 
And taste again a love secure of time ? 



34 



TO A DAFFODIL MAID 

I 

Beneath the grievous winter skies, 
Down ways that yet are icy-drear, 

Her straying beauty Hghts my eyes 
And fills me with a sense of cheer. 

Is she some early flower that blows ? 

As on she fares thro' dying snows, 

Heartward a happy fragrance flows ; 
And vernal thoughts my spirit thrill — 

Borne from her locks of daffodil ! 

II 

Sweet ! Are you April-life at last — 

Who wear the golden badge of spring? 
And is my weary winter past ? — 
35 



TO A DAFFODIL MAID 

What is the joyous gift you bring? 
Tho' fate may govern all amiss 
And robins wake for me no bliss, 
I leave upon your hair a kiss — 

Before the moment's dream be lost 
And hopes of spring have fled in frost ! 



36 



LEAF AND LOVE 

Whirl, oh, whirl on the breath of the wind, 
Leaves that are red and gold ; 
The airs of the autumn are cruel and cold, 
Tearing the leaves from the tree ! 
Life of my heart, as the wind unkind, 
Why art thou gone from me? 

Fade and be lost, ye dreams of my breast, 
Dreams that were dear of old — 
As bright as the leaves, as their red and gold ! 
Go, and be lost like the leaves ! 
Full is my heart with the year's unrest. 
Wild as the wind that grieves. 

Bare is my life as the naked bough. 

Bent by the wailing blast ! 

Z7 



LEAF AND LOVE 

Oh, ghosts that gleam from the passionate past, 
Pleading for joy that is sped. 
Why must ye linger ? Ye mock me now, 
Now that her love is dead ! 



38 



A MADRIGAL 

My messenger is thy red garden rose 

The South wind strows 
At even, in painted petals, one by one, 

Thy hand upon ; 
Each leaf's a perfumed syllable to tell 

I love you well ; 
Ah, count them o'er and see how they repeat 

Love's pledges, Sweet ! 

I voice my hope within the thrilling strings — 

The prayer that sings 
Upon the wind-harp neath thy cottage eaves 

'Mid ivy leaves — 
A meaning whisper for thine ear alone, 

Whose tender tone, 
39 



A MADRIGAL 

As soft thou sleepest, weaves love's longing 
theme 

Into thy dream. 

I send my message in the wood-dove's quest, 

That seeks for rest ; 
Fluttering adown upon the warm wind's sighs 

From summer skies 
To nestle on thy virgin breast and plead 

Its wildwood creed, 
And there to die if thou care not to know 

I love thee so ! 



40 



A TRYST 

My love is a-foot in the nodding heather, 

Her brown locks bringing the breath of the sea ; 

And she comes with Hps of sunshine weather, 
As fair as a flower the bourne of the bee. 

And her heart is a hive of wilding blisses. 
Of sweets enough for a life and a day, 

She comes to me and a tryst of kisses, 

Her mouth all moist with the salt sea spray. 

And my idle love lets the brown sheep wander. 
And her head leans back, and our hearts beat 
free; 
And together we claim the whole sea yonder, 
(A sail for her, and the gull for me !) 

41 



A TRYST 

My Rose has a roof that the wild grass thatches, 
Her mother-word is the sound of the sea. 

Ah ! where in the world is a heart that matches 
The heart and the faith that she gives to me ? 

And we pledge our troth by the happy heather, 
By the honest hue of its blossom-time. 

And the brown sheep's bells that we hear together 
Shall one day ring as our wedding chime ! 



42 



A DOOMSDAY KISS 

If the end of the world should come, 

And the blight of the things to be, 
While the heavens are dark and dumb 

With the weight of the last decree — 
In the pause, while the skies presage 

The blight that is ready to fall. 
What thoughts would my spirit engage. 

What of life or of love recall ? 

Of one thing would my mind take thought, 

^Mid the crowding faces aghast. 
To one wish were my being brought : 

That your lips I might kiss at the last. 
Of naught else would my soul take heed 

In the pause while the skies debate. 
And with fear would my footsteps speed 

Lest I come to your door — too late ! 
43 



A DOOMSDAY KISS 

There I know, my dear, you would wait, 

With the old-time smile in your eyes, 
Looking forth on the face of fate 

With no fear of the riven skies. 
Sure as now of your spirit's trust, 

And the good, one is free to win, 
And the life, not dead with the dust. 

That is more than this self of sin. 

And straight, with the fate at our hand, 
I would claim your lips as my prize. 

And you — would you understand ? 
Ah ! the moment would make you wise. 

And the world it might have its will, 
And for me, be an end of bliss 

In the faith that I'd then fulfill- 
In the joy of that judgment kiss. 
44 



A DOOMSDAY KISS 

You'd divine with your dawn-gray eyes, 

By instant spiritual art, 
All those things which you scarce surmise 

Of the fire of a boy's full heart, 
That to sense of itself is hid, 

That is dumb where it fain would call, 
By its tides and tumults chid, 

While it lose what is best of all ! 

Well, the doom of the world delays, 
And the years — they are, and shall be, 

While the joy of the heart withstays, 
And my life grows a dead decree .... 

I am tired of the heaven's old blue, 
I half wish for a judgment sky, 

Just to prove you — that other you ! — 

Feel the pulse of that possible I ! 
45 



A PARTING 

On fresh spring skies the swallows call, 

Good-by ! 
Alas ! for us, red rose-leaves fall — 

Good-by ! 
From heaven's heart a singing bird 
Makes rapture, and the year is stirred : 
For us remains an only word — 

Good-by ! 

The whole world once, and now but this 

Good-by ! 
We, who had all, with last lips kiss 

Good-by ! 
Thro' wintertide and snowflake's fall, 
Our heart's held summer's self in thrall ; 
The swallows come — Can love recall 

Good-by ? 

46 



A PARTING 

Ah, sweet, sad days, whose star is set, 

Good-by ! 
Glad days and dear ! We loved. And yet 

Good-by ! 
Waste are the ways where love was won. 
The loaf is spent, the distaff spun. 
Our lips must part. Love's day is done — 

Good-by ! 

Tho' fate must forge, must faith forget ? 

Good-by ! 
Tho' we are far, must summer set ? 

Good-by ! 

Will love not live, tho' lips delay ? 

Is there for love no greeting-day ? — 

Ah, when we meet, will love still say 

Good-by ? 
47 



THE ROSE OF LOVE 

A rose I gave to one I loved, 

At parting, to beguile ; 
Its snow-white lips she kissed apart. 

With wan and wistful smile ; 
Within her drooping eyes was bom 

A trembling tear, the while. 

And ere the white rose faded, 
Thro' the reverence of her room, 

Around her dear, dead body 
Swam its delicate perfume. 

And like a seraph presence 

Blessed the silence of her tomb. 

I feel her influence on me, 
Her tenderness and care ; 

48 



THE ROSE OF LOVE 

A subtle fragrance ^round me breathes- 

And lingers on the air — 
The perfume of the snow-white rose 

They placed within her hair. 

With heaven's voiceless mysteries 
What mind essays to cope? 

A pilgrim thro' life's darkness, 
In loneliness I grope. 

I breathe a rose's fragrance, 
And my spirit dares to hope. 



49 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 

At morn unto my window-sill 
Dan Cupid comes to learn my will. 
"Friend," cries my little winged guest, 
"Hast thou for me no amorous quest — 
Is there no maid to whom thou'dst say 
7 love thee' on this festal day ?" 

"Cupid," I answer, "there's a maid 
Of whom my coward heart's afraid. 
Not bold am I for lover's bliss — 
I'll send thee, rogue, to steal my kiss. 
And bear with thee this scarlet rose. 
As token how my bosom glows." 

Then Cupid thus : "Ho, that will I ! 
And hid therein I'll play the spy. 
50 



ST. valentine's day 

For when the rose hath caught her sight, 
She'll kiss it, sure, for pure delight ; 
Then shall I pierce her with my dart : 
A bee she'll think is at its heart. 

'The while she standeth, startled, there, 

I shall have vanished in the air ; 

But, her sweet presence hovering near. 

Thy name I'll whisper in her ear ; 

And of the mystery naught she'll make — 

She'll think it was her heart that spake !" 



51 



LOVE'S ADVENT 

Love comes not — will not come ! 

This is the fate of some, 

And my sad fate. 

Even now the hour is late. 

Love will not come, I said. 

Oh, make my narrow bed, 

And let me weep 

Myself into dead sleep, 

And o'er me lay 

A coverlid of clay ! 

Whilst I unlocked with sighs 

The fountain of mine eyes 

And hid my face within my hands, 

Across the lands 
52 



LOVE S ADVENT 

Came Love where I was weeping — 
But ah, then sleeping ! 

Love went her way 

From where I lay, 

But unaware 

A rose fell from her hair. 

I woke ; and then I knew 

That I, not Love, had been untrue. 



53 



SOUVENIR DE DANSEUSE 

O suave and scented slipper * 
Where is she, our worshiped tripper? 
Ah, my vacant little dove-nest, with your wanton, 
withered bow ! 

Where are fled your freaks and fancies, 
All the heydays and the dances ? 
Where is she who poised and panted o'er the foot- 
lights' starry glow ? 

What other foot can fit you. 

Since she fled who did outwit you, 

She who robbed you of her fairy tread, its warm 

and rosy throb ? 

(Ah, I never guessed it parting, 

When I saw that tear-drop starting, 
54 



SOUVENIR DE DANSEUSE 

Caught a wilful glance she cast me, heard the 
gathering girhsh sob!) 

What pretty wit you chattered, 
In the days when nothing mattered ! 
When amid the fete you flitted o'er the crowded, 
rose-strewn floor. 

Ah, the dominoes and mummers ! 
And the laughter of new-comers ! 
Ah, those moon-lit nights of carnival— that move 
my heart no more ! 

Youth's happy star is set ! 
(Like the rose-red cigarette. 
That so often sparkled gaily in her careless finger 
tips) 

We have both outlived our uses, 

Time's rebuffs and love's abuses ; 
55 



SOUVENIR DE DANSEUSE 

Dead our dreams and days of pleasure — with the 
laughter of her lips. 

Alone we two are left, 
Of her beauty both bereft — 
What a host of memories beckon from a passion- 
purple mist! 

Yet, withal, a gleam of gladness 
Smites my sense of tears and sadness ; 
For her phantom wafts a greeting from the laugh- 
ing lips I kissed. 

She filled my heart so truly ! 
I ever answered duly 
To the madness of her mazy moods, the fashion 
of her sway. 

Now it seems that time's devices 
Are not worth their weary prices™ 

56 



SOUVENIR DE DANSEUSE 

I would barter all to spend again one old-time 
foolish day ! 

The waxen lights are fading ; 
We are done with masquerading ; 
We are done with festal halls, with fetes and 
fancies — I and you. 

In your emptiness pathetic, 
There's a seeming quite prophetic, 
For my heart that once she filled so well, is old 
and empty too ! 



57 



LOVE'S MEETING 

When would I seek thee ? In the noon 

Of August night, when the round moon, 

Cut on the purple of the sky, 

Like the warm iris of an eye. 

Full of dream shadows, seems to keep 

Watch o'er the image of young sleep ; 

When the fond fingers of the air 

Move lax and languid here and there. 

And, scintillant with firefly rings. 

Unbind the drowsy perfume's wings 

Enfolden in the dove-cote of a rose. 

Till its invisible presence goes 

As passion's gentle messenger ; 

When all is silent, save the stir 

Of willow withes, which drooping green 

58 



LOVE S MEETING 

Seem curtains murmurous that enscreen 
A dryad's chamber, — save the sound 
Of sibilant cricket from the ground 
Upon the eardrum faintly falling, 
Plaintive as a lost fairy's calling. 



59 



MARY MAGDALENE 

Rising from her troubled slumber, 
O'er her breast her mantle folding, 
Mary hastens from the city. 
Ere the early break of morning ; 
Down the pathway dark with olive. 
Where the rose's yester glory, 
O'er the silver-threading streamlet, 
Drops its leaf upon the water, 
Mary, named the Magdalene, 
Hastens swiftly thro' the dawn. 

Brighter grows the breathless gloaming 

O'er the grove of giant cedars ; 

Nature lies in guarded quiet, 

Save one little nested birdling, 
60 



MARY MAGDALENE 

That, against her furtive coming, 
Silvers forth an early anthem ; 
But she heedeth not the greeting. 
Mindful only of the Master, 
And the tragic hour that slew Him ; 
Seeking for the gloomed grotto, 
Hidden in the cypress shadow 
In the lonely garden-vale. 

Thro' the garden's twilit hushes, 

Wandered One among the lilies, 

'Mid the Sabbath of their sweetness, 

One who hath the crownless kingdom ; 

He who like a gentle gard'ner 

Maketh green the parched places ; 

And the while. His fingers dipping 

In their font of dewy waters, 

He anointeth them, His children 
6i 



MARY MAGDALENE 

Speaking to their hearts of Heaven, 

Consecrating them as lessons 

Of His love for after ages ; 

Very early in the morning, 

While the white-walled city glimmers, 

Dim within the winding mist. 

In the gloomed hillside grotto 

Folded lies the stained cere-cloth ; 

While a face and form angelic 

Shine upon the hush of silence 

Like a lamp upon the darkness ; 

Mary, paused before the portal. 

Shades her lids with trembling fingers 

Seeth how the place is empty, 

Save of him, the winged watcher. 

Falters forth the troubled question : 
62 



MARY MAGDALENE 

"Where is He, the buried Master?" 
While her Hps grow wan with fear. 

Clearer stirs the eager crimson 
Of the dawn amid the cedars ; 
And the almond breaks in blossom, 
And the rose-lit brooklet murmurs, 
And the dewy-nested birdling 
Sings again a louder anthem ; 
In the garden, where the Master 
Wanders 'mid the world of lilies, 
He whose life was of the lilies ; 
And He blesses as He moveth, 
All the goodly Easter Day. 

Leaning o'er the edge of heaven. 

With spread wings and eager faces. 

All the throngs angelic wonder, 

While amid the happy hushes : 
63 



MARY MAGDALENE 

"He IS risen, alleluiah !" 

Sing their harps and vivid voices ; 

And the guardian of the grotto, 

Uttering the upper pseans : 
*'He is risen, alleluiah !" 

Answers 'mid the love-lit gloom. 

(At the word, the world grows lyric ; 
All the birds unite their voices : 
Earthly hymn, immortal music, 
Mingle for a wondrous moment. 

*'He is risen, alleluiah !" 
Whispers from the heart of heaven. 

*'He is risen, alleluiah !" 
Rings the glad earth's antiphon.) 

Kneeling ^mid the snow-white lilies. 

Lifting up her languid eyelids, 
64 



MARY MAGDALENE 

Dim with tears that wet her lashes 
Like the dew upon the Hlies, 
Mary sees the gracious Master ; 
Hears thro' all the song and sweetness, 
How He saith : "O Magdalene, 
Lo ! with thine own faith I bless thee, 
Thou whose love with me was nailed 
On the tree in hour of anguish, 
Was as myrrh upon my body, 
When I lay within the tomb !" 



65 



KING HEROD'S SON 

The rose-red sunlight faded into dun, 

And gleamed in mists of gold Jerusalem, 

When through the gates their three white camels 

swung 
With weary hoofs all rust with desert sand. 
Hard by the pillared porch of Herod, king, 
The mounted Magi draw the fringed rein 
For rest at last ; just as a certain Star 
Wakens with arrowy argent the dusk air — 
Friend of their pious hope, its light had led 
Their wanderings on, yea, far midst stranger 

lands 

And barren places where the jackal laughed; 

And now perchance the longed-for goal was 

near! 

66 



KING HEROD S SON 

Herod within his cedarn closet sits, 
Drunk with the poisoned draught of sullen 

crimes 
That feed upon his soul. Around him hangs 
Rich arras picturing frantic lures of lust — 
A mocking woof to his diseased veins ; 
While dropping from a curious beam of gold 
A globe of alabaster casts its ray 
Upon a rusted blot of memoried gore — 
The blood of Mariamne his dead queen, 
Whose spectral lips lean ever to his ear 
Crying a madness on his tyrant brain ; 
In haggard trance there have his eyes been fixed 
Four days and nights, while fear and muffled 

tread 
Do homage to his brooding. Lo, what power 
Wafts to his senses through his chamber walls 



KING HEROD S SON 

Strange words to shake him from his evil dream : 
"Where is the new-born babe, King of the Jews — 
For we his star have seen within the east 
And hither are we come to worship him ?" 

The Magi pause outside the brazen gates, 

Where smoking torches blur the starry night 

'Mid wagging of centurion tongues. Pale-robed 

In samite wrought with strange device 

And breathing odors of an Eastern clime, 

Their beards bleached wondrous with the weight 

of years, 

The story they repeat ; while in the dusk 

The freighted camels drowse upon their knees. 

And Herod hidden by a pillar hears. 

Clutching the marble with his withered hands, 

Weak with his fear and hate. Then forth he 

comes 

68 



KING HEROD S SON 

With hail of welcome to his kingly guests, 
Bidding them enter in the palace halls, 
And brimming goblets with his precious wine, 
As at his board he gives them honored place ; 
And while they tarry o'er their heads the Star, 
Brightening within the violet voids of night, 
Silvers the cradle of another king. 

Now Herod's favorite son felt Herod's hate, 

On hearing of the new-born rival king, 

As, noted not, he stood beside his sire 

With frowning face while feasted the wise Three. 

And so it was, when in the wide white night. 

Mounting their camels they set forth again. 

Along the way that led to Bethlehem, 

Secret he followed in his curious youth, 

Telling no person in his father's house 

And cloaking with precocious craft the garb 

69 



KING HEROD S SON 

That prated of his princely birth. Behold, 

The strange Star swam before them in the blue ! 

Out through the sentry-guarded city gate, 

Which at a glint of Herod's signet-ring 

Yields grudging egress to the caravan — 

The bold boy lurking where the shadows flit — 

They journey 'neath the heaven's solemn hush; 

Always the Magi's aged eyes upraised 

Unto the lustre in the calm mid-air, 

And on their lips a holy murmuring 

Of hymns in alien tongue, while the night-breeze 

Blows burdened with rich incense that they take. 

With gold and divers costly offering. 

To lay before an infant's swathed feet. 

Like forms of dream they thread the olive groves 

Whose stirring leaves seem little lips that hail 

70 



KING HEROD's son 

The pious purpose of their hearts, and now 
The open sky and wattled shepherd huts 
With ghostly fleeces huddled in the fold 
And drowsy guardians bending on their crooks ; 
And so, *mid dew-wet ways of quietness, 
Where Love beyond the meaner love of men, 
Poises with wide-spread wings invisible 
Under the pulsing stars ; and thus at last, 
The hills crowned by the humble hamlet walls 
Of Bethlehem, where o'er one straw-thatched 

roof. 
The wretched outhouse of the hostelry, 
A happy beacon pours its silver beams. 
At the frail door faith knocks with tremblino- 

hand. 
Full of the wonder of such lowliness — 
The child of Heaven 'mid the crowding kine ! 

71 



KING HEROD S SON 

And with the Three enters King Herod's son 
To mock the monarch cradled in a byre ! 

The while, confusion reigned in Herod's house 

At knowledge of the prince's secret flight, 

And soldiers sought through all the city streets 

With torch and spear, but got no bruit of him ; 

And so came dawn and noon and eve again, 

When rose the cry, the prince was at the gates ! 

Tearful, the queen cast arms about his neck. 

Having no thought save joy of his return, 

But Herod, wroth, bade him declare the thing 

That held him thus in hiding from their ken 

And put unwonted light within his eyes ; 

For as in some rich wonder did he walk. 

Smiling upon them speechless. Then at length 

He broke his silence to the sullen king, 

72 



KING HEROD S SON 

Reporting all the marvel of the love 
Which changed his hate to homage of the child. 
And at his words Herod had slain his son, 
The while his fury raged, but love prevailed 
In that he deemed a spell was on his soul. 
He bade his slaves raise up the prostrate youth 
And keep him prisoned till the madness cease ; 
Thus bound he put him questions of the babe, 
Thinking to send his messengers of death 
To take him where he lay ; but vain his wit ; 
Nothing would he affirm but happy love 
For him the lord of Jewry newly-born. 
Then Herod bided full of bitter craft 
The coming of the Magi back again, 
According to their pledge, but they came not ; 
For had the boy his father's hate revealed, 

Whereat they turned their steps another way. 

/3 



KING HEROD S SON 

Then forth went Herod's edict on the land 
That babes of tender years be foully slain, 
And at the news wild grief assailed the boy, 
Until the queen for pity of his tears 
In secret loosed his bonds ; thinking perchance 
To move him to his olden filial mind 
Instant he fled the palace as before. 
Passionate to warn the parents of the child, 
And lo, he learned how they had left the place 
And hasted into Egypt ; at the news 
He turned rejoicing; near the palace gates, 
The hirelings found and bore him to the king. 
Then did he cry : "Put by thy sword, O Sire ! 
For hath the babe escaped." On hearing him, 
The wrath of Herod frothed his livid lips, 
And through a mist of blood he bade them strike ; 

But when he saw that he had slain his son — 

74 



KING HEROD S SON 

Upon his lips the Christ-born smile of love, 
Madness o ercame him, and he reeled and fell. 
Thus was he borne into his golden house, 
And on his couch 'mid spectral shapes of fear 
Raving aloud he lay until he died. 



75 



THE CRYPTS OF THE HEART 

Down o'er the winding stairs of self, 
Down through the inner dark, 
With fearful feet I go ; 
Slippery the way and damp 
With old forgotten tears. 
I groping go alone, 
Unto the silent crypts that keep 
Youth in a meet sarcophagus, 
Where winged forms are gathered, 
With fingers on their lips. 
Watching the shrouded biers 
Of the dead things within the heart ; 
No sounds disturb their sleep ; 
And there I count the dead. 
Behold their faces sleeping; 
The cere-cloth from the lips 

76 



THE CRYPTS OF THE HEART 

Of some old sin, I draw ; 

Or kiss the brow of some chill faith ; 

And envious I grow 

Of the pale pasts 

And of the deeds of death. 
"O, morning's hope !" I cry, 
*'Art thou no more for me? — 

Or thou, once-dear companion-wraith ?" 

The blood-blot on the breast 

Of some fair faith I slew, 

I consecrate with tears. 
"Live, live again !" I say, 
^ **Art thou so dead ? 

Thou wast not born to die !" 

And lo, a war of words, ^ 

The sound of answering voices ! 

'T died in giving life 

17 



THE CRYPTS OF THE HEART 

Unto a greater need — 

Mourn not my fate !" 

And one that smiled in sleep : 

"Not wholly dead ! I keep 
My sweetness for a future time, 
My light for other days V 
And one : "Not yet ! — 
When alien ills betray, 
My face and hand for help !" 
Then from the lips of sin : 

"Thy garden-hour of agonies 
Will know my feet, my cup 
Will comfort on a sterner cross !" 
Then once more silence, 
Darkness and the pale faces 
Of the mute watchers. 
With fingers on their lips. 

78 



THE LAST SHOT 

Life's ammunition spends ; the smoke-wreaths 

trail 
Across this earthly breach. I fainting lean 
On the worn weapon of my days, so mean 
A stay for the good Captain's trusts that fail. 
I have not striven ; and now the foes prevail. 
My bitter tears of shame shut out the scene 
Of conquest from these eyes, that could not glean 
The far-off hope my braver comrades hail. 

Can all be o'er and naught be left to dare 

For youth and faith, whose dreams were once so 

sweet ? 
My spirit sickens at this poor defeat — 
Too weak was I to keep the old command. 
My God, my God, reach out to me Thy hand : 
The last shot flashes on the darkened air ! 

79 



THE MIDSUMMER MOON 

From sources sad and strange as death, 

It draws the marvel of its bloom, 
Kindled and colored by the orient's breath — 

The moon-rose of the summer gloom. 

Statelier than all earthly flowers. 
It grows where dreamland-gardens lie 

Beyond the confine of this world of ours, 
A mighty rose of gorgeous dye. 

The genii its gardeners are : 

They watch its fiery leaves unfold, 
Guarding its growth from evil blights that mar, 

With heavy cimeters of gold. 

When lo, at last, its waxing bloom 

Burns perfect for a haunted hour, 

80 



THE MIDSUMMER MOON 

It wafts across the world its wild perfume, 
Full of a strange voluptuous power ; 

That calls from earth and ocean grave, 
Vain ghosts of passion like a mist ; 

Vague fleeting forms with aching arms that wave 
And cold lips hungry to be kissed — 

Old phantoms of the world's dear dust ; 

Thinly athwart the light they flee ; 
Faces that fed the torch of antique lust, 

Or later lovers held in fee. 



8i 



INDIAN SUMMER 

When asters late their purpling fringes fold, 
Like twilight stars, that set against the grief 
Of winter's night; and wastes the autumn wold, 
Its crisped crimsons loosening, leaf on leaf, 
To gather with the earlier fallen gold : 
Remote amid the woodland's rich decay. 
The season's guardian sits, a sachem old. 
Granting a goodly time, of breath too brief, 
A halcyon calm that slowly ebbs away. 

There, all day long, within that sylvan place, 

Changeless, 'mid secret solitude he dwells. 

In aged attitude of thought profound ; 

His eyes, with rheum bedimmed, his time-worn 

face, 

82 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Intently fixed upon the moss-spread ground ; 
The while, his loose lips mutter forth the sound 
Of many hoary, half -forgotten spells ; 
Old runes of wizardry with power to bribe 
Summer, awhile, to linger and look back, 
Her beauty saving from devouring blights ; 
From those chill foes that hover on her track — 
The hastening winter's sprites and speared tribe ; 
Whose camp is round the flickering northern 
lights. 

Betwixt his knees he holds a calumet, 
From whose charmed bowl the breathed vapors 

swim 
In azure wreaths about his ancient face. 
And make the mellow noon grow drowsed and 

dim, 
The wood, the sunburnt slope ; and where are set 

83 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Like weathered wigwams of his vanished race, 
The peaked stacks of yellow harvest maize, 
Hanging foot-high, a filmy line of haze. 

While thus he bides within that leafy spot. 
Devising schemes of peace, the kindly seer, 
Joy falls upon the golden, waning year. 
In fearless merry mood, the forest folk 
Around him push and peep : he notes them not ; 
Or how the squirrel springs with chattered joke 
Along the rain of laughing chestnut burrs ; 
The silence broken when the pheasant whirs ; 
Nor when the bear, with crafty stealth a-roam, 
Follows the wayward winging of the bee 
To where, concealed within the hollow tree. 
He finds the dripping, brown-celled honey-comb ; 
The sudden splash, when up the sun-shot stream 
The otter ripples, 'mid the silver scream 

84 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Of wild-duck startled from their marshy bed ; 
Or when, anon, the loosened grape-vines shake 
And thro' the thicket, with his antlered head, 
The spotted buck unto the hound's far bay 
A moment hearkens, ere he hies away 
With rustling hoof across the withered brake. 

The twilight falls ; a bending form and slow 
Wends o'er the hills against the sunset skies. 
Wrapped in his blanket's dusky fold. And lo, 
A sudden change ! The shuddering winds arise 
And snatch the last leaf from the creaking bough ; 
The ghostly mists reek from the dampened 

ground ; 
Chill is the wood and barren ; where but now 
The sachem, in his sumach-brightened place, 
Retained the season in his calm control, 
There, sole memorial of his sway, is found, 

8s 



INDIAN SUMMER 



Lingering, leaf-hid, in all its waxen grace : 

The Indian pipe with cheerless, ash-heaped bowl ! 



86 



AN AUTUMN SONG 

Love in the heart and all the world away ; 
Clasped hands and kisses tho' the sere leaves fall ; 
Blight on the bough and bare the year and gray — 
Yet love is love, and love's my want, my all ! 

Kingdoms I longed for once and fame I sought, 
Yea, for the full of life my soul was fired. 
Youth's die I tossed and worldly boon I bought ; 
But bitter was the sweet my heart desired. 

What daily tho' it be my lot to drain 

The cup of lowliness that fate doth hold — 

I kiss the lips that kiss me back again ; 

x\nd love, my gift, is more than fame or gold ! 

87 



AN AUTUMN SONG 

Clasped hands and kisses tho' the seasons range, 
Tho' youth may fade and time be false and f rore ; 
Love still is love, thro' all the chill and change, 
And in my heart keeps summer's song and store ! 



9Q 



AN OCTOBER DAY 

Through jagged rifts of woodland, sere and red, 

The stubble gleams like some rich treasury 
floor; 
There lie the pumpkins' orbs of gold outspread 

And husked corn heaped up in goodly store. 
Among the stacks a straying moody breeze 

Makes music like reverberance of brass — 
Faint cymbals smote by Nature as she sees 

The prophecies of spring-time come to pass. 

A film is hung upon the fallow hills ; 

An amber sun sleeps in the purple noon ; 
The noise of blackbirds from the distance thrills — 

Rude revellers 'mid the autumn's harvest boon. 

Bright sumac clumps the dusty road-side deck, 
Their leaves like tongues of a devouring flame ; 

89 



AN OCTOBER DAY 

Mixed with dry vestige of the summer's wreck, 
Gray ghosts of flowers of sweet familiar name. 

There droops the flexile stalk of golden-rod, 
Its precious sceptre rusted and grown hoar — 

As fallen from the hand of prince anod 
In fairy spell of hundred years or more. 

A dampness blurs the stretching meadow sod, 
Nipped by the frost to reddish-brown and 
gray- 
Where, grazing 'mid the milkweed's frothy pod 
And thistles, drearily the cattle stray. 

Yet still against the fence's vine-wreathed bars 

The purple asters glow serenely bright — 

Mid-autumn's flowers, which, like evening stars, 

Are harbingers of winter's hastening night. 

90 



AN OCTOBER NIGHT 

The bloated moon upon the bare hill's shoulder 
Hangs like a wine-bag purple from the press, 

And pours its light upon the fields that moulder 
Under the year's obliterative stress. 

And scattered thick among the mildewed furrows, 
Like wigwams, rise the rusty stacks of corn ; 

For inmate there the timid field-mouse burrows, 
And winds like haunting spirits sigh forlorn. 

And lying in and out their lengthening shadow, 
Ripened and reddened in the frosty cold, 

A Spaniard's greedy dream of Eldorado, 

Glow the big nuggets of the pumpkin^s gold. 

Against the sky in lonely desolation, 
A giant oak, its ruddy foliage gone, 

91 



AN OCTOBER NIGHT 

Raises gaunt arms in silent supplication, — 
The anguished gesture of Laocoon. 

From the far woodland breathes a windy sighing 
That sinks, then rises in a shuddering swell ; 

Then on the blast the withered leaves come flying, 
Or whirling dance a frantic tarantelle. 

Only the spirits of the air can follow 

The mad gyrations of their rustling flight, 

Till swept at last in wayside hedge and hollow, 
They vanish in the shadows of the night. 

Upon the moon-lit ground the hoar-frost glistens ; 

The night is still ; a white mist heavenward 

floats ; 

Then breaks upon the pensive ear that listens. 

From marshy haunt, the bittern's dismal notes. 

92 



AN AUTUMN DAY 

The ripe haw burns along the dusty road ; 

And, leaning o'er the placid meadow stream, 
Lithe elder bushes bear a purple load ; 

The cloudy day is quiet as a dream ; 
As yet the trees have felt no frosty fire, 

Save some young beech upon the woodland's 
edge; 
Only the sumac lights the autumn's pyre, 

And color deepens on the rustling sedge. 

A rhythmic sound across the silence floats, 
As busy threshers beat the granary floor ; 

Near by the kine lift up their hungry throats 
To rob the straw-stack at the barnyard door ; 

And thro' the idle wreaths of cottage smoke 

93 



AN AUTUMN DAY 

Is vaguely glimpsed the red and fallow soil, 
With stalwart horses bending to the yoke 
On strips of stubble lessening to their toil. 

From rusty censers smokes the thistle down 

Where mullein's yellow tapers lume the air 
On hazy altars of the hill-slopes brown, 

Like wayside shrines that ease the soul of care ; 
And blighted bends the lingering golden-rod, 

The jester's bauble of past gala days ; 
While at each breath upon the withered sod 

In faery showers falls the aster's blaze. 

In restless moods, that change from grave to gay, 
The year, betwixt old memories and new fears, 

Smiles, glad with sunlight as a summer day. 
And on the morrow melts in mist and tears ; 

Doubting, perchance, of nature's guiding hand, 

94 



AN AUTUMN DAY 

Sickened with dull foretaste of winter's dearth, 
The soul within her strives to understand 
The secrets locked within the aged earth. 



95 



THE LAST OF MAY 

One song of May before she takes the veil — 
Before the gray-walled convent of the past 
Has shut her in ! I followed in the trail 
Of sound the bees, her minnesingers, cast 
From silvery lute strings, till I reached at last 
Her court. I drew the impleached green in twain 
And, breathless, watched her, with her eyes hung 

fast 
In queenly quietude. I felt a pain. 
Like the dull pressure of a crov/n, constrain 
My brow in gazing. Such expression swayed 
The purple of her cheek (love's dear domain !) 
It was the look of one who feels the weight 
Of the dark coming of a mortal fate — 
Who feels, yet, royally, is not afraid ! 

96 



THE MESSAGE OF MARCH 

Who blows his bugle o'er the leas ? 

Who roves across the snow-clad hills, 
With wanton locks upon the breeze, 

Yellow as nodding daffodils ? 
Athwart the welkin, loud and long, 
Sounds blare of bugle, snatch of song. 

Awake, O World ! (So March doth say) ; 
Awake ! for soon she'll v/end this way, 
With rose-wrought face and fair. 
And April in her hair, 
The Maido' Spring! 

Clasping the cruel window-grate. 

With tearful face, in her gray tower, 
Wan with her weary captive fate, 

97 



THE MESSAGE OF MARCH 

Spring sighs away the laggard hour. 
Now hark ! The bugle's mellow blast ! 
And stripling March fares singing past 
Oh ! thro' the bars, as she doth stand, 
She waves to him her little hand. 
How long the drear delay ! 
She sighs, ah, well-a-day ! 
The Maid o' Spring ! 

The sluggard world from slumber wakes, 

In answer to the herald call. 

And as from face a lady takes 

Her mask, at height of carnival, 

The streamlet melts its icy guise 

And trips along in olden wise. 

While all its liquid notes it sets 

To pulse of pebble castanets, 

With palm against her ear, 
98 



THE MESSAGE OF MARCH 

She lightly laughs to hear, 
The Maid o' Spring ! 

The snows that lie on upland height 
Are clipped by scissors o' the sun, 
Like sheep that lose their fleeces white, 

And into heaping clouds are spun. 
That hang o'er fallow field and hill 
And sudden showers of silver spill, 
While one by one the sylvan, shy 
Blue violets break like rifts of sky. 
And lo ! along the lea 
She wanders, wayward, free. 
The Maid o' Spring ! 



99 



L.ofC. 



A RIME OF RAIN 

What meaning hath the music of the rain, 
Whose pale face glimmers at my window-pane, 
Tuning his lute to many a whispered strain ? 
His moods are manifold. My musings guess 
At curious sorrows and delights no less 
Than such as on the human heart lay stress. 

Romance and mystery his spirit keep ; 

I hear him like a timid lover creep, 

Petitioning his lady's languid sleep ; 

Or sigh like Petrarch, to the evening breeze. 

When Laura o'er Ferrara's terraces 

Trailed, silken-robed, to wake the heart's ill-ease. 

Across the morning meadows doth he pass. 
Spilling his careless buckets on the grass, 

lOO 



A RIME OF RAIN 

A swain that dreameth of his dairy-lass ; 
Or Hke a sportsman with his panting hound, 
TrampHng the golden grain unto the ground, 
The while he follows to the bugle's sound. 

And oft I hear him pace my midnight roof, 
Like wight that walks his grievous ways aloof. 
His bosom heavy with a sin's reproof ; 
Betimes he tells his solemn beads of lead 
And, monklike, mutters Aves for the dead. 
That never cease until the dawn be red. 



lOI 



THE MOUNTAIN 

I 

Broad-chested giant, shadowing the land, 
With lazy limbs stretched out at length, 
Covered with shag and gnarled with strength, 
I watch thee day by day ; 
A hemlock hoar the staff of thy huge hand, 
Driving along the accustomed upward trail 
Thy flocks of mist, that morn and even stray 
Across the vale. 

Pressing with sun-browned body earth's green 
couch, 
While summer days their peace renew, 
With half-veiled eyes of melting blue, 
O'er which the shadows flit. 

102 



THE MOUNTAIN 

What dreams are thine that with a magic touch 
Thy spirit to contentment they beguile, 
And o'er thy brows, where rugged frowns might 
sit. 

Persuade a smile ? 

II 

When the empurpled curtain of the gloom 
Drops slowly from its loosened cord, 
Across her marble terrace toward 
The purlieus of thy rest, 
I watch the figure of the evening come, 
One bright star buckle on her shoulder shining, 
And folded in the covert of thy breast, 
Lie there entwining. 

Warden thou art of all the trooping stars ! 

Through all the night's grim hours they wait 

103 



THE MOUNTAIN 

Before the threshold of thy gate 

Of pine trees that uprears 
Itself against the sky. There, too, those bars 
Behind, fresh from some fountain bath is seen 
The moon, when with her quiver she appears, 

A huntress queen. 



104 



AN AUTUMN VIEW 

From steaming vales are echoes shrilly borne 

Of baying hounds; slowly the mist-wreaths 
creep 

Along the looming pines of mountain steep, 
To fade like dreams against the laggard morn ; 
Blithe breaks the sun upon the wholesome day ; 

The cloud-flecked air is crystal clear and warm, 
The stream flows laughing on its pebbled way, 

And leaping trout snap at the insect swarm. 

Slow winding o'er the ruddy, fresh-plowed hills, 

In clouds of dust the horses, fading, pass ; 

The orchard's largess falls upon the grass ; 

105 



AN AUTUMN VIEW 

And from the corn the toiler's whistle thrills ; 
A joyance fills the woodland-girded noon, 

And mingles with the golden harvest task ; 
Yet death is garner of the autumn's boon, 

And sadness lurks behind the jocund mask. 

Rearing their hearselike plumes the sumach's 

leaves 

Along the roadside fences brightly burn ; 

Where asters with the year's grief seem to 

yearn — 

Misty as stars that break on early eves ; 

And through the air the tricksy thistle-seed 

Drifts by the languid golden-rod's late glow, 

Like winged Ariel from bondage freed. 

Unto the potent wand of Prospero. 

1 06 



AN AUTUMN VIEW 

At night, through mist the spectral corn stacks 
rise, 
Where lie the scattered pumpkins nipped with 

cold, 
And there, like gnome that guards his lumps of 
gold, 
The moon is seen to peer with blood-shot eyes ; 
Within the wood a moody spirit grieves. 

Stirring with fitful hand the leafage sere — 
Then suddenly alive the heaping leaves 

Rush down the road as from some dream of 
fear. 



107 



A Fx\REWELL TO THE UPLANDS 

These ramparts vast, these pine-crowned pin- 
j nacles, 

Frame in with mountain might the rule of Peace, 

Who holds her fortress heights for man's release 
From the world's fever-fire and frantic spell 
That waste his heart. These heavenward walls 
repel 

The invasive thoughts that give his mind no ease. 

Here nature hath her balms for life's disease, 
If one amid her green enchantments dwell. 

Though city coignes once more my days must 

mew. 

Loud o'er the sound of moil my soul anew 

Shall hear the peaceful voice of water-falls, 

io8 



A FAREWELL TO THE UPLANDS 

That hang like banners on these granite walls : 
Then calm shall fall upon my battling mind, 
For dreams with forest fern my brow shall bind ! 



109 



THE MOUNTAIN PEAK 

Upstarting at Creation's trumpet-blare, 
It fronts the forest vale with rocky face, 
A monument of nature's sternest grace, 

That rules remembrance with its kingly air ; 

With thoughts triumphant over men's despair, 
It calls on life from its high-seated place — 
Drinking the fountain of encircling space 

As pledge to noble hearts that dream and dare. 

Benign in beauty from the morning's fires 
It smiles a friend ; at eve its mood inspires 

The heart with blessed calms. And yet what 
wrath 
Falls from its throne of terror, when, a form 

Like Israel's prophet o'er the Red Sea's path, 

It parts the mighty motions of the storm ! 

no 



THE PINE TREE 

I sing the mountain pine tree — I who know ! 

I am a dear disciple at his feet, 

FamiHar with his many moods, can tell 

Each winged thought that haunts his swarthy 

brow, — 

The owl that governs all his midnight dreams, 

The dove the spirit of a holier peace, 

The raven wrapped in melancholy's weeds ; 

And each bird-thought has power on his mind, 

With all the flock of fancies — come — and gone. 

He is a demigod, the darling of the stars ; 

Even the maiden moon forgets her vows, 

To fondle him all night upon her lap, 

And run her pearly fingers through his hair. 

Ill 



THE PINE TREE 

(The while Endymion wakes upon the hills.) 
He has the goodly gift of prophecy ; 
It comes with whirlwind, with the fire of storms. 
He rends his beard! He strikes his knotted 

brows ! 
The sweat drops from his face in heavy drops ! 
He shouts the desolation of the world ; 
The secrets in the caverns of mid-air. 
O pine tree ! Jove sends down his word to you 
By his own eagle from the heights of heaven ! 



112 



THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 

Here, where the cHmbing pathway turns, 

And the primeval mountain glades 

Are mute with mighty awe, what whisper yearns, 

Mysterious and forlorn. 

Breeze- wafted on the ear ? 

The troubled soul of nature seems to mourn 

In phantasies ineffable and drear ! 

Hark— 

It swells and fades. 

And swells again, 

A Titan's sob of pain. 

Borne from the impenetrable leafy dark ; 

A surging breath of grief, 

Like lonely waters on a distant reef; 

The solemn sighs, 

113 



THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 

Linger a moment ere the rumor dies 

And leaves the kingly forest dumb ; 

Where Silence like a picket 

Crouched in the rhododendron thicket 

With knotted hand of hate, 

Smiles, as the echoes of the invasive sound 

Shrink to the unguessed hollows whence they 

come. 

As some lost w^ayfarer in fear 

Pauses before a weed-grown gate 

That yields its hinges on a haunted ground, 

Leaning to hear 

Strange elfin music and elusive laughters 

Shed on the twilight air, — 

So, on the mountain's cragged stair, 

Fearful, I hearken : — 

Where the gnarled cedars darken 

114 



THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 

The noonday shattered into emerald stars ; 

And hemlocks fling their lichened rafters ; 

Where solitary oaks their antlers lift, 

Leafless and blackened with the levin's scars ; 

And 'neath the pines' cone-dripping eaves, 

The air is colder ; 

And odors of strange flowers reek, 

And from the oozing mold 

Mushrooms blanched like a corpse's cheek, 

Mix with the fungus, purple, orange-hued. 

And the wan sunbeams shift 

On last year's matted leaves ; 

Or where through many a fern-floored nook. 

Wind the slow courses of the shallow creek. 

Its waters, dusky-gold, — 

Stained with the sodden wood 

Of bitter tamarack ; 

ITS 



THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 

While on their marge, fantastical and black 

The water-birches hook 

Their rooty talons over log and bowlder. 

Now louder ! 

As towards the forest's inmost sanctuary 

The feet advance, those whisperings wild and 

fairy 
Increase unto a mighty roll 
Of music. Louder, and still louder, 
Down the long aisles of many a centuried bole, 
Like passionate trumpets that grow prouder 
As victory flaunts its pennons over death, 
Come maddened mirths of sound. 
Confused with clamoring tongues and wild com- 
mands, 
And tenors multitudinous that raise 

A Titan chorus of tremendous praise ! 

ii6 



THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 

While whirling from the sense-confounding 

brawl, 
Pinions impalpable of guardian spirits beat 
Against the thick, impleached leaves 
That make perpetual eves 
Around the outposts of that sacred seat, 
Where in her rock-hewn audience-hall, 
Dwelleth the sibyl of the water- fall ! 

O'er-arched by heavy minster-glooms 

Of jagged forest boughs 

And laurels candled with late rosy blooms 

Like lamps in honor of some glorious vows,- 

In ageless age, its spirit all unlost 

To the amazement of its glad creation, 

The water- fall rejoices 

In endless celebration ! 

Erected huge upon the heaven's noon, 

117 



THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 

Its mossy altar stands, 

Wreathed round with fluid coronal 

And fadeless foam-festoon, 

Majestic with the ceremonial fumes 

Of spotless vapors that arise 

From fleeced sacrifice ; 

Where surpliced waters swing with holy hands 

Censers of mist that never fail ; 

The while, innumerable mighty voices 

With hoarse-grown hymn and hail 

On their Creator call. 

Where, from the canyon's height, 

Upon the air, 

Falls silverly the water's sun-lit veil, 

Curtained by spray, she dwells 

Weaving her rainbows over thoughts of death ; 

The keeper of these wells, 

ii8 



THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 

The mountain-sibyl of prophetic breath 

And features luminously pale, 

Wrapped in a silence of unending sound ; 

A misty spirit fair, 

Wearing her youth through all the countless 

seons. 

Like one ascended unto holy ground, 

I loosen from my feet 

The weary sandals of the world ; the bright 

Baptismal dews that scatter from her palms, 

In sacred rite 

Fall on my spirit with ensuring calms ; 

The water's paeans 

And ecstatic hail 

Mend with a solemn magic the torn strings 

Of my dumb lyre of life, and lo, it flings 

Its chords of gladness on the mounting psalms ! 

119 



THE MOUNTAIN SIBYL 

Watching the water's happy services, 

I learn at length 

Its passionate creeds, 

A help for human needs : 

My heart made strong with nature's strength, 

And joyous with her joy and ease ! 



120 



THE SPIRIT OF THE WHEAT 

Such times as windy moods do stir 
The foamless billows of the wheat, 

I glimpse the floating limbs of her 
In instant visions melting sweet. 

A milky shoulder's dip and gleam, 
Or arms that clasp upon the air, 

An upturned face's rosy dream, 
Half blinded by its sunlit hair. 

A haunting mermaid 'mid the swell 
And rapture of that summer sea ; 

A siren of elusive spell, 

Born of the womb of mystery, 

121 



THE SPIRIT OF THE WHEAT 

That, airy-limbed, swims fancy-free. 
Glad in the summer's mellow prime ; 

Full-veined with life's felicity 
And faith that knows no winter-time. 

At eve, when firefly luster burns 

On that green flood like mirrored stars, 

Against the hush, her faint voice yearns, 
Breathed to a light harp's thrilling bars ; 

Till sinks at last in sunset slow 
Midsummer's long, luxurious day, 

And amber-red those ripe waves glow, 
The wanton sylph resigns her sway ; 

For ere the rabid Dogstar's blaze. 
The reapers wade within the wheat ; 

When grow their senses all amaze. 

And amorous sights their vision cheat. 

122 



THE SPIRIT OF THE WHEAT 

For lo, upon some eddying wash 
Or hollow of the wind-swept grain, 

Her wafted fingers foam-like flash, 
Her laughing body drifts amain. 

Alas ! It is divine farewell ; 

A sighing ebbs along the wheat ; 
Borne onward by a golden swell, 

She fades against the wrinkling heat. 



123 



IF LIKE A ROSE 

If life were like a rose designed, 

That proves its purpose to be fair 
And with the grace its bud divined 

Distils June's sweetness on the air ; 
Then would the stubborn sheaths that hold 

The flower of the heart's ideal 
Beneath the stress of time unfold 

And what we dream become the real — 
If life had but the rose's art 
And beauty burgeoned from the heart ! 

Then like the rose that o'er the grass 

Drops leaf by leaf its lovely freight 

And tho' its purple fortunes pass 

Is calm in an accomplished fate, 
124 



IF LIKE A ROSE 

Might we with less rekictant will 

Yield up the harvest of our hours, 
Seeing the inner grace fulfil 

Its promise in old age's powers — 
If life had but the rose's art 
And beauty burgeoned from the heart ! 



125 



THE FAIRIES' SCISSORS-GRINDER 

Hearken to the cricket calling, 
When the evening dews are falling — 

Hearken to his whirring wheel ! 
For his busy fingers' twirling 
Sets his whetstone whirling, whirling, 

As he sharpens fairy steel. 

And the while he works he calls : 
"Ladies of Titania's halls ! 
Fair, good folk of Fairytown ! 
See, the dusk hath fallen down ! 
With your scissors hither hie 

At my cry ! 
Bring your bodkins rust with dew ; 
I will sharpen them anew ! 

Try me, try !" 

126 



THE FAIRIES SCISSORS-GRINDER 

All the night you hear him cheeping, 
Busy at his labors keeping, 

Turning 'round his buzzing wheel ; 
Every now and then a spark 
Flashes forth upon the dark 

As he sharpens fairy steel. 

And the while he works he calls : 
"Pages of the Fay King's halls ! 
Doughty men of Oberon ! 
Hearken, each and every one ! 
Hither with your weapons hie 

At my cry ! 
I will grind them well, I ween. 
Till they are both bright and keen ! 
Try me, try !" 



127 



THE HORNET'S NEST 

To the ceiling of the porch, 
I must soon apply a torch 

(Though I half am moved to pity!) ; 
And by means of fire and smoke 
Rid me of the tiny folk 
Who, with lord and many a vassal. 
Live within their hanging castle. 

And make war like bad banditti. 
Shall I leave it ? Dare I scorn it ? — 
'Tis the home of Messrs. Hornet ! 

Sometimes I grow bold and say, 

''Surely, they are all away 1" 

But, alas, the hope is vain — oh, 

Wise my cautious hand to hold ! 
128 



THE HORNET^S NEST 

Hear their tiny trebles scold ! 
Out they come (the peevish folk!) 
Like a sudden whiff of smoke, 
Puffing from a wee volcano. 



129 



THE CRICKET 

When the year grows gray and chilly, 
And the north wind blows its best, 

To my fireside, piping shrilly. 
Comes a pert, unbidden guest. 

Hid somewhere among the rafters 
Or within the creviced wall. 

All night long his little laughters 
Fill the dusky, hearth-lit hall. 

Is it Puck that deigns a visit. 

Blowing on his frost-bit thumbs ? 

No, I need not ask what is it ; 
For each year the vagrant comes. 

'Tis a careless, beggared cricket, 

Left by all the rest to roam ! 
130 



THE CRICKET 

Having lost his summer ticket, 

With no means of journeying home. 

And for fee, the small new-comer 
Pipes to me his merry lays, 

Singing of the vanished summer 
And the bright October days. 

And I dream, while he is speaking, 
Autumn's joys are back again ; 

For his voice is like the creaking 
Of a laden harvest- wain ! 



131 



THE FAIRIES' NURSE 

Safe within the cranny 

Of the garden wall, 
Like a gray-haired granny, 

With her cap and shawl, 
Sits an honest spider, 

Bent with aged racks. 
With her wheel beside her, 

Spinning fairy flax. 
And if one should ask her. 

Why she takes no fun, 
Wastes no time to bask her 

In the noonday sun, 
She would say, "My dearies. 

Careless children play — 

I'm the nurse o' fairies 
132 



THE fairies' nurse 

And at work must stay ; 
For I knit them blanket, 

Weave them dainty sheet, 
While they pertly prank it 

With their twinkling feet. 
But the winter's coming 

For the elfin bands, 
Frosts will soon be numbing 

Tiny nose and hands. 
Then when they are cozy 

With my woolly skeins, 
They will bless their prosy 

Nurse for all her pains !" 



133 



TO DON DRAGONFLY 

Let me be thy squire, 
Don Dragonfly, I pray ; 

I will faithful serve thee, 
All the summer day ! 

Never shining armor 
Clad a bolder knight ; 

Whither wilt adventure ? 
And what wrongs aright ? 

Seekst thou realm of Faery 
And Titania's court ; 

Wearing sleeve of ladye. 
In the tourney's sport ? 

Or from bad magician, 

Freeing those who die — 
134 



TO DON DRAGONFLY 

Spider's webby dungeons 
Holding butterfly ? 

Or some bee wilt vanquish, 

Buccaneer so bold, 
Who, with boots and cutlass, 

Robs the lily's gold ? 

Prithee, let me squire thee. 

Dragonfly, I pray ; 
Faithful will I serve thee. 

Thro' the summer day! 



135 



FIREFLIES 

Farers of delight, 

At the nod of night, 
Flitting from your coverts in the depth of day! 

Tell me if you are 

Ghosts of shooting star, 
Doomed in expiation o'er the earth to stray ? 

Are you constellations 

Of the fairy nations. 
That wee wizards watch thro' tiny telescopes? 

Good and baleful stars : 

Venus, Saturn, Mars ; 
Little orbs that govern all their fears and hopes ? 

Oft your sudden light 

Flashes on my sight 
1^6 



FIREFLIES 

Like a lidded lantern slyly shutting, oping, 

Glancing on the way 

Of some frightened fay. 
Tiny thief with pocket stuffed, in darkness 
groping ! 

When your lights all gleam. 

Ah, you are a dream 
Of a fairy Venice in the summer gloaming ; 

Lamps at casements glowing. 

Gondoliers a-rowing. 
Mummers of Titania o'er the water roaming ! 



137 



LADY-SLIPPERS 

A quaint little shoemaker's shop 

I found in my garden to-day, 
Sweet satiny gear for a fop 

Of a fairy with money to pay, 
Hung there in the noon-day sun ; 

Or fit for particular toes. 
Like those of Titania's maids. 

When they dance while the midnight goes. 
In mummings and masquerades. 

Some night will they troop this way. 
When Oberon gives a ball, 

And with fern-seed pence they'll pay, 

And none will be left at all ! 

Then I'll know in the forest nook 
138 



LADY-SLIPPERS 



Where carpet of moss is green, 

That the midnight moon doth look 
On a queer Httle gala scene. 



139 



THE ROBIN'S CREED 

What's the message merry 

That the robin brings, 
When with antic airy 

O'er the lawn he wings ? 
Changeless as the crimson 

Of his velvet vest 
Is the theme he hymns on : 

How that hope is best ! 
'Cheer up !" is the burden 

Ravelling out its chime 
Like a golden guerdon, 

Thro' a wintry time. 
When we guess the letter 

On our scroll of fate 

Means defeats that fetter 
140 



THE ROBIN S CREED 

Our material state : 
From the hedge we hear it, 

Like a prescient elf 
Or a helpful spirit — 

Or one's better self. 
And his tuneful "Cheer up V 

Falls on vexed glooms 
Like a drop of syrup 

Pressed from precious blooms, 
And less mixed and mazy 

Seems our life to run, 
And on heart grown hazy 

Breaks an April sun — 
As we hear the message 

That the robin flings, 

When with purple presage 

Thro' our soul he wings ! 
141 



A SONG OF SPAIN 

To Salome M, Warren 
The form of the sunset fainted 

Through the wreathing arms of the snow ; 
And the flush of the firehght painted 

On the gloom Hke an after-glow. 

Through the room, where your fingers slender 
Brought the joy that the Southland sings, 

With a touch which was true and tender 
From the mood of the mandolin strings. 

Till the winter fled in effacement. 
With the ghost of wind that grieves, 

And the snowflakes caught on the casement 
Seemed a drift of jessamine leaves ! 

And a castle rose from a breathless 

Pause in the mandolin's strain — 

142 



A SONG OF SPAIN 

From dreams that dissolve but are deathless ; 
A spectral Castle of Spain. 

And the red of the sunset's roses 

Tinged tower and casement pane ; 
And you moved through its chambers and closes, 

And I dreamed you its chatelaine ! 

But the dream with the sunset fainted, 
And the towers grew misty again — 

Like vision of things that are tainted 
With treason of joy that is vain. 

Just because the rose of your lyric 

Loosened leaf and fluttered apart ! 
— But one leaf with sweetness satiric 

Drifted down in the depth of my heart ! — 



143 



THE ITALIAN TONGUE 

Worn stairs of sea-stained marble that invite 

To old Venetian palaces ; 

A gondola wherein to drift at ease 

Hearing the lulling sound of summer seas 

'Mid dying sunset light; 

A lute that teaches how the heart may ache, 

As Petrarch's for the Lady Laura's sake ; 

Sweet syllables which fall like lily leaves 

That fleck the Arno thro' warm vernal eves ; 

Words of a moonlight magic, 

Of serenade and casement left ajar. 

Of masque and carnival guitar 

And stolen kisses ; 

To Dante's touch, a lyre grown tragic 
144 



THE ITALIAN TONGUE 

With the grim mood of death's abysses, 
Whereat, Hell's gates were rifted ; 
Yet sweet as the angelic hymns that lifted 
His poet soul unto the golden blaze 
Of Heaven and Beatrice's gaze. 



^45 



LOVE'S QUIETUDE 

All falsities and evil passions fall 

Before the potent gaze of Love's true star ; 

Across the glooms your swift arm slips to bar 

Sin's ornate gates, till all desires pall ; 

My ears grow sealed to sirens' songs that call 

To men on life's strong waters. Where you are 

My soul abides in chastened calm, afar 

Removed from sense's feverish carnival. 

Existence is with you a green retreat. 

Full of pure fragrance, birds' songs and repose, 

Where never pierce the arrows of life's heat, 

Where the world's cynic minion never goes. 

Content art thou, O heart ! once fain to range, 

Nor wouldst thou for the world thy love 

exchange ! 

146 



THE MUSIC OF THE SOUL 

There is a music of ethereal grace, 

That breathes upon the ear of those that love, 
Telling in varied strain, what feelings move, 

What blest emotions in the soul have place ; 

Thus may two lovers in each other trace 

Those fine and tender thoughts that rise above 
The tongue's expression ; and so fully prove 

The perfect meaning of love's dear embrace. 

Unseen, I stand within the garden's gloom, 
And watch with warm eyes full of sudden tears. 

My loved one's face within the lamp-lit room ; 
The music of her spirit floods my mind. 

Unto that strain, O world, dull not my ears 
Or with thy rumors make its meaning blind ! 

147 



THE CHURCH ORGANIST 

Thy heart and not thy hand it is doth wake 
This inmost concord of the organ's keys ! 
As one who, spent with upward toiling, sees 

From some peaked Alps— as balm for pilgrim 
ache — 

Prospects of Italy with vale and lake, 
Lying afar in summer's endless ease : 
So hath thy music led me by degrees 

To heights where Time's triumphant vistas break. 

Stationed as on the utmost verge of life, 

Above the levels of despair and strife, 

My eyes are witness of the lights that shine 

On gaugeless breadths and vast horizon line 

Framing the vineyards of God's Empery — 

The seat of larger bounty still to be. 

148 



INSOMNIA 

From slumber's sombre fold the city clock 
Aroused my dreaming sense. I counted four. 
Whereon my ear kept sleeplessly the score 
Of time's slow passage, till I heard the cock 
With his lugubrious horn the silence shock, 
As one star glimmered on the dawn's dim shore 
Against life's gradual-swelling breaker roar, 
Like pharos shining from its lonely rock. 

Futile were all inventions of my wit ; 

The subtile keys of thought refused to fit 

Sleep's precious casket with its gems of dream ; 

Then in those dreary hours came thy dear face, 

And dominated so by passion's theme, 

My lone watch bore the chrism of heavenly grace. 

149 



THE MAELSTROM 

'Neath Northern skies, its guardian sits and sings 
Her witchly runes ; while spectre-white and gaunt, 
The charmed icebergs seek her fateful haunt ; 
There, lapped betwixt her knees, anon, she swings 
A giant cup, whose draught to frenzy stings 
The storm god's baneful lusts ; until his taunt 
And mighty, bearded laugh, his foemen daunt, 
When on wild seas his wind-swept chariot rings. 

In that grim g>Te, which whirling ravage fills ; 

Where shrieking ghosts of dead disaster file ; 

Her eyes forecast, with fixed, circean smile, 

From its prophetic dregs, the future's ills ; — 

While at the smoking depths the kraken coils. 

Its greedy lips choked with the ghastly spoils. 

150 



THE FOUNTAIN 

Fountain, fountain of the square, 
Leaping on the sun-Ht air, 
At what heights of happiness 
Do thy flashing waters guess? 
Standing at thy basin's brink 
More I gain than kindly drink ; 
Fairer are the draughts I find 
For the fever of the mind. 
Fountain, fountain of the square. 
Leaping on the sun-ht air ! 
Thou art Hfe's eternal youth. 
Symbol of its sweetest truth ; 
On thy limpid laughters follow 
Spring and hope's reverting swallow, 
151 



THE FOUNTAIN 

Gladness and the cloudless days 

Of thy spirit's fearless praise ; 

In thy art that is so eager. 

In thy outflow never meagre, 

In thy sparkling phantasy, 

In thy pale foam's chastity, 

In thy ceaseless, silver singing. 

In thy bright and buoyant springing, 

There is that of faith which teaches ; 

How the trusting nature reaches 

Upward, how it ne'er confesses 

Unto earth-born bitternesses, 

And to a diviner duty 

Giveth forth an inward beauty. 

Fountain, fountain of the square, 

Thou art very sweet and fair ! 

Would I, too, might, upward springing, 
152 



THE FOUNTAIN 



Lift my spirit so in singing. 
Yea, thus mounting from the sod, 
Flash my being up to God ! 



153 



THE OPEN DOOR 

The fever-fret of day was o'er, 

And golden fell the evening's smile. 
We entered through the open door 

Of the great city's minster pile ; 

There, side by side, we paused a while. 
There, for a little sober space, 
While, pensive, with uplifted face, 

We sought the ending of the aisle, 
Where saintly faces seemed to dream, 
Amid the casement's splendid stream. 

Oh, pale persuasive twilight-hour. 

That dulls the great world's noisy drum! 

The impatient urge of worldly power. 

Voiced on the lips of care, grew dumb 
154 



THE OPEN DOOR 

And left us but the purer sum 
Of worship. Wings unseen did beat 
The air and wave a holy heat 

Against our brows ; a splendor come 
From shores eternal seemed to burn ; 

And Heaven was not so hard to learn ! 

We turned to where the city laved 

The threshold stones. The crimson dyes 

Of casement niche and arch engraved, 
The wistful gaze of saintly eyes, 
Still held our hearts and hushed the sighs 

Of doubt's despair. So, came the thought 

That life might, too, be Gothic-wrought ; 
And windowed 'round with sanctities 

Of faith's uplifting prayerful palms ; 

And filled with great cathedral calms ! 

155 



SPARROWS 

Madcap gamin of the town ; 
Mites of Mammon, bold and brown ; 
Cheerful birdling chatterboxes, 
Cousin to the wit of foxes ; 
Vagabond as gipsy races. 
Having all their nut-brown graces ; 
Scorned by all your plumed kin ; 
Happy 'mid the city's din, 
As the ballad-singing thrushes 
Housing in their hawthorn bushes. 
How at foggy morn ye lark it, 
Flitting in and out the market, 
Gleaning many a luncheon hasty, 
Many a crumb and fragment tasty ; 
At high noon, without a care, 
156 



SPARROWS 

Winging thro' the sun-webbed air, 
'Round the fountain's tritons playing, 
Dipping in its silver spraying, 
Frolic as a set of satyrs, 
Flinging mock at pleasure-haters ; 
From the courthouse eaves and angles 
Wagging tongue 'mid legal wrangles ; 
At the church's ivied sill 
Joining in the service shrill. 
Hardy chirplings, never spent "^1 
Is your spirit of content ! 
Summer sun or wintry sleet 
Ne'er behold your joy's defeat ; 
Tho' the summer's goods abate 
Not a whit disconsolate. 
Singing with the self-same cheer 

In the miser winter's ear ; 

157 



SPARROWS 

Rudely tho' the score is set, 
Paying nature back her debt, 
With a will forever thirsting 
To fulfil the bliss that's bursting 
From your homely, rust-brown breast. 
Would we too might be possessed 
Inly with such utter joy. 
To o'er-sing the world's annoy ; 
Learning from your flow of mirth, 
How to gauge life's truer worth, 
And with braver soul akin 
Take the daily sunlight in. 



158 



STRAYERS FROAI ARCADIA 

A sultry day ! At noontide heat 

I watched the quivering summer air, 

The empty stretch of city street : 

When, lo ! it chanced I saw them there, 

With idle, lagging, dust-dimmed feet — 
Arcadians, come unaware ! 

What tempted them from wood-depths green, 
From mountain spring and mossy court, 

Who shyly part the laurel's screen, 
Lest mortal eye survey their sport ? 

What curious longing thus could wean 
Their hearts from shame of m.en's report ? 

The stranger sights their gaze perplex. 

O'er the unusual cobble-stone 

159 



STRAYERS FROM ARCADIA 

They stumble, three, of satyr sex, 

Vine- wreathed and weathered ruddy-brown ; 
Such ways, forsooth, the nymph might vex 

Whose fair feet followed on their own. 

By chance, they glimpse the city square, 
Bedecked with bloom and fount at play. 

'Twas good to see them thither fare. 
Casting in haste their staves away, 

And on the greensward sink, with bare 
Limbs dappled by the golden day. 

What ease ! One caught his notched reed 

And blew it with delicious will. 
Such notes at season of green seed 

The robin's throat hath art to trill — 

As one whose heart held love's full meed. 

The wood-maid dreamed, gray-eyed and still. 

1 60 



STRAYERS FROM ARCADIA 

Arcadians in the city square ! 

Their careless laughters on my ear ; 
A golden dream, antique and fair ! 

With bated breath I drew anear. 
(The eve was charmed . . . Thro' misty air 

They vaguely fleet and disappear.) 

Sweet longing troubled all my thought ; 

My heart was held by haunting pain. 
Had I the gray-eyed maid besought — 

Perchance it had not been in vain ! 
Might she my hand have woodwards caught, 

Love leading on with piping strain ? 



i6i 



Dec 17 1901 



DEC 



16 



